


Making a Habit of It

by scifigeek14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Bi!Dean, Canon-Typical Violence, Gabriel dies off screen, Homophobic Language, M/M, References to Addiction, TEMPORARY Hiatus, Teen!Cas, Teen!Dean, he isn't a main character in this, not tagging major character death cause it isn't super traumatic, punk!Cas, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigeek14/pseuds/scifigeek14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then: 1998<br/>All Dean wanted to do was ask him which way he needed to go to find room 142. In retrospect Dean probably shouldn’t have gotten his attention by shouting: “Hey! You in the kilt!”</p><p>Now: 2010<br/>Dean wasn't expecting to run into a ghost from his past while getting his ass kicked by an actual ghost. But, he isn't exactly complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessisaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessisaurus/gifts).



> Important Notes to Read before You Start:
> 
> This story is going to be Semi-Canon compliant. Everything up to about half way through season 2 happened as it did, and then there was no Sam dying and no Lucifier and no Angels. Sam briefly had an issue with the demon blood addiction, but there is no master plan behind it. The story takes place timeline-wise around season four or five and the flashback takes place when Dean was 19, around 1998, and posing as a senior in high school. Cas is 18 and an actual senior. Cas is going to be fairly OOC because he grew up human and was influenced by that, but I’m going to try to make him still seem Castiel-y so bear with me. Also, they find the Bunker a few seasons early. Main plot roughly follows the plots of “Everybody Hates Hitler” (8.13) but only very very roughly.
> 
> TW: Homophobic slurs.

 

  **Making A Habit of It**

** **

**_~_ **

**_Then:_ **

_Northern California: 1998_

All Dean wanted to do was ask him which way he needed to go to find room 142. He was the only other person in the hallway twenty minutes after the bell rang and Dean had to at least try to not get kicked out of the school before he could gank the ghost he’d been sent here for. The kid wouldn’t have been his first choice of a conversation partner, trust him on that one, but he was Dean’s only choice. In retrospect Dean probably shouldn’t have gotten his attention by shouting:

“Hey! You in the kilt!”

“What!?” Castiel growled, slamming his locker, shouldering his book bag, and turning to glare at Dean with what Dean would later come to describe as piercing blue eyes.  The force behind it all caused Dean to momentarily lose track of his intent.

“Um.”

“Can I help you?” Castiel asked with a raised, unimpressed eyebrow.

“Um, sorry,” Dean apologized as he found his tongue, “Dean Winchester, I’m new.” He offered a hand and Castiel squinted at it but made no move to shake. Dean frowned and retracted his hand, nonplussed by the intense soul staring.

“Castiel Novak, school social pariah.” Dean huffed a laugh, appreciating Castiel’s dry self-deprecating sense of humor and deadpan delivery.

“Do you dress like that because you’re an outcast or are you an outcast because of how you dress?” Dean asked with a smirk, taking in Castiel’s baggy, home-dyed black jeans, black t-shirt with some kind of Native American looking wing decal, and [eyebrow piercing](http://i.imgur.com/QEWOXoy.jpg) \- and of course, the [kilt](http://i.imgur.com/yqTDygs.jpg).

“Do you look like a tool because you wear a leather jacket or do you wear a leather jacket because you’re a tool?” Was Castiel’s prompt response.

“This jacket is cool and you know it.” Dean gained his footing in the conversation falling back into his usual cocky disposition.

“Did you want something?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, blinking at Castiel, immediately thrown off again at the blunt attack, “Can you point me to room 142?”

“You’re taking Mythology and World Religions with Krenvits?” He snorted, “That guy is a nut job. He’s been telling the faculty the school is haunted. Been reading too many of his Romanian Lore textbooks, if you ask me.”

Dean found that he was having a hard time getting a real read on Castiel. He spoke every word like a challenge, like he was waiting for Dean to call him out on something, call him a liar or maybe a freak. His eyes were smirking but his mouth was pulled into a tight frown. Dean knew how to deal with the reverse, the kind of people who would smile the kind of smile that never really reached their eyes. Dean’s father was that way after his mother died, loads of hunters were that way. That was the kind of person Dean knew he’d grow up to be one day, the kind of person he hoped that Sammy would never be. But this? What was Dean supposed to do when confronted with Castiel?

“Listen, I really shouldn’t miss my first class, so if you could just help me out here.”

“Fine, if you are so determined.” Castiel said with a slight head shake, “Take that hallway till it comes to a T and take your left. It’ll be right there.” He pointed down the hallway.

“Thanks. Why don’t you have a class, now?” Dean asked, reluctant to leave now that he’d gotten Castiel talking, despite of his insistence to go to class.

“Free period.” Castiel grunted, turning to walk away, the shoelaces of his untied converse dragging on the linoleum behind him. Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel was being honest or not, and he didn’t know why he cared, why he was intrigued by Castiel. He briefly wondered if he wasn’t fully human, maybe a creature in disguise, but he doubted it.

“Hey, well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Most likely, it’s a small school.” Castiel responded without turning around. Dean watched the back of his head till it turned a corner.

Dean was still pondering Castiel Novak when lunch rolled around and the student population flooded into the cafeteria en mass. A few of the cheerleaders in his Algebra class had shown him the way and he was pretty sure that the redhead had a crush on him, but that she also had a boyfriend. And, as Dean didn’t feel like having to deal with a jealous ex or the distraction of a relationship for what would likely be a one or two week case tops, he was making a note not to give any girls too much attention.

“Dean, you’re gonna sit with us, right?” The blonde, Ashley, asked once they reached the end of the lunch line. Dean almost nodded when he caught sight of Castiel in the back corner of the lunch room populating a table alone.

“Nah, I’ll catch up with you later.” Dean waved them off and bee-lined for Castiel’s corner. “Hey, Cas.” Dean spoke the nickname before he really thought about what he was doing. It was just easier than Castiel, he rationalized. Cas looked up from the notebook he’d been doodling patterns onto and squinted at Dean.

“Dean.” He greeted in monotone.

“Can I sit with you?”

“If you want to lose all the new friends you made today, be my guest.” He went back to his drawing. Dean plopped his tray down, turned the cafeteria chair around and straddled it, and rested his chin on his hands casually.

“Their loss, not mine.” Cas didn’t acknowledge this statement and they sat in silence for a while as Dean worked his way through his first slice of pizza and Cas picked carefully at his fries. “This is the swankiest school I’ve ever been at, and I’ve been to a lot. I’m just glad they don’t have a uniform or something. I cannot rock a pastel polo like my little brother.”

There was still no response. But Dean thought that he might have seen one corner of Cas’s chapped lips try to curl up into a smirk. Dean pressed on.

“What ya drawing, Cas?”

“None of your business, and I don’t know why you feel you are unable to pronounce my full given name properly. It is not that difficult.” The words sounded combative, but there was no real malice behind them. Instead, there was thinly veiled amusement and Dean knew he’d won.

“You never had a nickname before, Cas?”

“Of course I have. There’s Freak, Weirdo, Faggot, and the religiously charged: Judas, just to name a few of the most favored by my peers.”

“Teenagers can be real dicks.” Dean commented, sucking the grease off his thumb. Boy was he glad that he’d be out of his teens in two and a half months. Cas stared at Dean with an intensity that left him with no option but to stare back. He felt like a butterfly pinned inside a glass case and studied.

“I don’t understand you, Dean. You dress cool, you act cool, you breeze in here like you own the place and all the girls swoon, and yet you choose to make conversation with me.”

“Not that much to understand. I’m not that complicated. I like what I like and I do what I want.”

As they went to throw away their trays Dean noticed that Cas was wearing chipped black nail polish on the last two fingers of his left hand and had a stud at the top of his left ear. His dad would kill him if he got a piercing, Dean thought to himself. Besides, the less things a vamp can rip off of you the better in his line of work.

~

Dean found Cas at his locker the next morning. Dean knew that he should just ignore him and focus on the hunt. Dean knew better than to make attachments on Hunts. He tried to rationalize the reason he was going over to say hello was because he thought Cas might know something about the hauntings, or at least be able to point towards someone who did, but he knew that it was because Cas fascinated him. Dean was leaning casually against the next locker over to Cas’s, about to make a snide comment, when it happened.

“Hey, freak. Finally get yourself a boyfriend, faggot?” The voice asked before a pair of arms shoved Cas hard against his own locker door. The locker slammed shut and Cas ricocheted against the metal. The sound echoed through the hallway. As Cas braced himself and regained his footing, the whole hallway laughed. Dean saw red.

“Hey!” He shouted at the jarhead walking away. “Neanderthal! You kiss your mother with that mouth?” The boy, Simon, stopped and turned back.

“What did you say to me, new kid?”

“You heard me, tough guy.”

“Dean, stop.” Cas cautioned, trying to pull him away by his jacket sleeve, but Dean wasn’t about to back down now. Besides, it was too late to. As soon as Cas finished his request, Simon took a swing right at Dean’s jaw. Dean dodged to the right and grabbed a hold of the arm, kicked at his knee and dropped him in one move, using the arm to hold him face down to the floor. The hallway gasped.

“Dean, please. You’re making it worse and you’re just going to get yourself into trouble,” Cas hissed in his ear. Dean grunted and let Simon go, only to be dragged off by Cas to an empty classroom, “Why would you do that!?” He spit at Dean, furious.

“The asshole deserved it.” Dean huffed, hunching his shoulders and readjusting his dad’s jacket.

“You only succeeded in making it worse. I don’t need you storming in here and acting like my hero. I can handle myself and no one asked you to save the day.”

Cas pushed at Dean’s shoulder and Dean let him force him back a step in shock. Cas angry was frightening. If the guy was actually as powerful as he was threatening Dean would have been worried. As it was, Dean was startled by the fury in his eyes. Cas was right, Dean realized. Who was Dean to intervene in Cas’s social life. He’d made it to his senior year of high school without Dean throwing punches on his behalf. And Dean would be gone in a week and what would Cas do then? The bullying would only get worse in reaction and Dean wouldn’t be there to stop it. Dean swallowed and crossed his arms.

“I guess, I can be a little bit over-protective sometimes.” Dean admitted.

“More like a bit of a hothead. Leave me alone. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is what Castiel's character model looks like for his teen years:  
> face: http://i.imgur.com/QEWOXoy.jpg  
> clothes: http://i.imgur.com/yqTDygs.jpg


	2. Chapter 2

Cas avoided Dean for the rest of the week. At first Dean tried to seek him out, but after two days he gave up. He instead delegated his time between focusing on not getting detention and casing the school to try to find the object or remains the ghost was haunting. Friday evening found him wandering across the football field with his duffel full of supplies and a flashlight for when the sun went down. Dean almost reached for a gun when he saw the figure sitting on the top of the bleachers before he realized who it was.

“Cas?” He inquired. Cas was sitting up at the very top row leaning back against the railing and looking out at the horizon. He was only wearing a t-shirt despite the chilly early November air. Dean walked up the steps and dropped his duffel down next to Cas. “Can I sit with you?” He asked. Cas looked up and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his backpack, which was sitting at his feet next to where Dean dropped his duffel.

“That depends,” He answered, “You have a lighter? Mrs. Hendal confiscated mine.”

“Yeah, here.” Dean sat and pulled out the matches he’d brought in order to dispose of the ghost. Cas took it and when he did their fingers touched. Dean shivered at how cold they were. It was a miracle that his hands didn’t shake when he lit the cigarette. After Dean re-pocketed the matches, he tugged his – his dad’s – jacket off and draped it over Cas’s shoulders. He, at least, had a layer of flannel covering his arms. “Don’t look at me like that. You were turning blue.”

“What do you want, Dean?” Cas asked, tugging the jacket tighter around him and taking a drag of his cigarette. Dean wondered if the leather of the jacket would smell like smoke after this. Hopefully his dad wouldn’t notice if it did.

“I just thought you could use some company.”

“I’ve never needed it before.”

“No one should have to go it alone, man.”

“Is this your way of apologizing?”

“Yeah. I know I suck at it, but it’s the best I got.” Cas chuckled lightly and shook his head.

“You want a smoke?”

“Naw,” Dean waved him off, “Tried it once. Didn’t like it.” Cas shrugged.

“What are you doing out here? No one comes out here this late unless it’s to smoke or to make out.”

“How do you know it wasn’t the second?”

“Because you’re sitting with me.” Cas stated the obvious and Dean grinned.

“Yeah, you caught me.” Dean looked back at the horizon where the sun was starting to change from pink to orange and making no effort to come up with a plausible excuse for his presence or his duffel.

“You are a mystery, Dean Winchester.”

“You’re one to talk. The only things I know about you are those things I’ve picked up from the rumor mill, and most of them I’m hoping aren’t actually true. Do you really not have a belly button?” Cas started laughing.

It was the first time Dean had heard him properly laugh. He wheezed a bit before letting out a few snorts and Dean found himself thinking that it was actually adorable, a word that he’d to this point reserved for things Sammy did and, like, small animals. Cas let his cigarette rest in his mouth and reached down to tug up the bottom of his t-shirt. Cas was surprisingly tan for the middle of November. Dean hadn’t noticed it until he was confronted with so much skin. Cas certainly did have a belly button and, surprisingly, some abs. He also had a tattoo. It was a small black feather, floating right against the top of his left hip bone.

“Cool tat.” Dean nodded to it and Cas let his shirt drop.

“Thanks. My brother took me to get it. A friend of his, Balthazar, does it.” Dean nodded and added this to the “Catalog of Cas” he’d been amassing. It included: He liked to roll the bottoms of his jeans, he never tied his shoes – even his boots, he liked music but never wore band t-shirts and it was all the modern stuff that Dean didn’t think was as good as classic rock, he came from a super religious family, he had an older brother, and, despite all clues to the contrary, he was generally considered by adults to be a ‘good kid’ with a 4.00 average. “Dean, can I tell you something, if you promise not to tell another soul?”

“Okay.” Dean shifted awkwardly against the cold metal bench, peering at Cas curiously out of the corner of his eyes. Cas was watching his cigarette fizzle between his fingertips.

“I’m gay.”

“Oh.” Said Dean dumbly, “So when the assholes in school call you ...”

“A fag? Yeah, hits a little close to home.” He snuffed out the end of his cigarette against the bleacher and tugged Dean’s jacket tighter.

“That’s got to be hard, with this town, your family.”

“Hmmm,” He hummed in agreement, “I’d never come out to my father. You should hear how he talks.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, “I get what it can be like to have a Dad with a set of expectations for how you’re supposed to live your life. My old man, he can be … tough. I don’t mind it so much, being his little soldier. That’s fine.  I’m willing to be that just so that Sammy doesn’t have to be.”

“Sammy?”

“My kid brother.”

“Is he is town also?” Cas had a funny way of weaving in and out of speech styles, Dean noted.

“No. He’s with dad. They’re off on another…” Dean stumbled around the word ‘hunt’, “another trip. They’ll swing by to pick me up when I’m done here.”

“Done here? You mean when you piss off too many teachers or run out of girls to flirt with?” Cas teased, smirking at Dean from over the collar of his jacket.

“Shut up.” Dean elbowed him gently, trying to remember the last time he felt so at ease with someone other than Sam or Bobby.

“You care about your brother a great deal.” Cas observed.

“Sam’s my world, Cas. Only thing on God’s green Earth I get sentimental about,” Dean admitted, “I just want him to grow up so much … more, so much better than me and Dad.”

They paused then to watch the sun slink below the horizon and Dean focused on taking a mental snapshot for his memory bank. Dean liked to save these moments and pull them out when he was having a bad day. He filed it away alongside memories of his mom, of Sammy’s birthdays, of weekends at Bobby’s house.

“So,” Dean’s curiosity outweighing his desire to preserve the calm silence, “How – er – how’d you find out you were gay?”

“Boobs just never really did it for me,” Cas answered with a chuckle and a shrug, “I figured I was either homo or nothing. Not that either would be acceptable at home.” He paused, “Unless I wanted to be a priest, which I decidedly do not.”

“Ever had a boyfriend?”

“In this town I am the freak with the piercings and the bad attitude. So, no. Besides, just because everyone at school calls me a fag doesn’t mean I’m actually out of the closet.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“How’d you decide you’re straight, Assbutt?” Cas interrupted him before he could stumble his way through another apology. He was grinning, so Dean knew he was teasing him.

“Well, I happen to like boobs, so…”

“How do you know you don’t like both if you’ve never tried?”

“You’re one to talk. I bet you haven’t even kissed a guy.” Dean deflected, feeling overheated despite the fact that the sun had gone down and a nighttime chill was setting in. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that, over the course of their conversation, they had ended up so close that their biceps were pressed against each other.

“Well, you know,” Cas spoke softly. He turned to face Dean, moving to straddle the bench, “there is a logical solution presenting itself.”

Dean turned to meet Cas’s gaze and swallowed thickly. Cas was blushing and biting his lip like a damned school girl and it did weird things to Dean’s stomach. He knew that this was when he could lean away and laugh it off, that he should walk away, go gank the ghost, leave town, and never look back. Instead he found himself leaning the other way, staring at Cas’s chapped lips and wondering what it would be like. And really, he rationalized, what would the harm be to just try and see? Dad wouldn’t have to find out, and Dean was never one to back down after all.

They met in the middle.

Soft, was the first thing Dean thought. He’d assumed that it would feel different from kissing a girl but it wasn’t that different really. His lips were dry but they were soft. Dean’s upper lip slotted against his lower just as easily as it ever had with anyone, maybe even more perfectly. Dean’s fingers were cold where he kept them pressed against his jeans— didn’t reach out— but Cas’s breath was warm on the exhale and Dean was burning from the inside out.

“Dean,” Cas broke the kiss to pant out against his mouth. Dean growled. Then he lifted a hand and grabbed a handful of Cas’s dark hair at the back of his head and tugged him back and reclaim his lips, and then his tongue.


End file.
